


Over The Rainbow

by fluffyxcloud



Category: Beast (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffyxcloud/pseuds/fluffyxcloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like the right to complain has been taken away. Feels like the whole world hates me...this feeling that will never stop and only  grow into despair...what should I do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over The Rainbow

착하게 살고 싶었는데  
I wanted to live like a good guy

 

 

우리 왜 이렇게 됐을까  
How did we become like this?

 

 

Turn signal flicked on; right. Pulling out of traffic, the sleek car gently bumped from pavement to driveway, rolling into the ritzy hotel’s round-about and stopping in front of sliding doors. Bright lights gleamed from the rain cover onto glossy, black paint. The engine was cut. A young valet perked up at his stand, bored eyes brightening at the upcoming treat of driving the shiny sports car to the underground parking lot. The youth, perhaps nineteen, straightened his crimson vest and ran excited hands down the starchy fabric to smooth out invisible wrinkles. He stepped out from behind his platform, polished shoes glimmering in the artificial light. 

 

The driver sat in his car a belated minute. The valet squint his eyes to see through tinted windows, but only made out a shiny silver watch hanging from a thin wrist. Two hands were still fisted on the steering wheel. After a moment there was a squeak of leather, and a quiet click sounded the driver’s exit. A tall man appeared; dark hair styled to a point, sideburns smoothed down behind pronounced cheekbones, a glint of large diamond earrings. His fair skin was covered by an expensive black suit, material soft and luminescent. A thin, black tie accentuated his crisp, white buttoned shirt and the valet marveled at how it seemed not to bear the weight of the day’s toils. The tall man wordlessly dropped keys into the valet’s fumbling hands and moved around the hood, shoes clicking against the ground towards the hotel entrance. The valet grumbled to himself while opening the driver-side door, cursing the obviously rich man for not tipping him. Silently promising to race the car in the garage, the boy glanced up before sliding in to the black interior and noticed the man slapping a wad of bills on the valet pavilion. With glee, the valet wiggled in the warm leather seat and closed the driver’s door, running his hands along the smooth steering wheel before starting the engine. He’d take extra good care of this one.

 

The man stepped through the hotel’s sliding doors and a wave of perfume and cleaner pervaded his senses. His face remained passive, dark eyes taking in the chandeliers, shiny tiles of the floor, plush couches, and sparse tenants wandering the lobby. He only stopped momentarily before gliding to the counter. 

 

“Yoon,” he said quietly, glancing at the older woman in salmon pink before casting eyes back around the vast lobby. Classical music drifted quietly behind the clacks of computer keyboards. The woman behind the counter coughed and clicked uselessly, peering through small spectacles that no longer held the right prescription. 

 

“Mr. Yoon,” she responded after a moment. Her voice was quiet, and Doojoon was reminded of a mother’s lulling tone. “You’re friend arrived shortly before you, should I call up to him to inform him of your arrival?”

 

“That’s not necessary,” the man said, flicking his eyes back to her face. He pulled his wallet from a pocket inside his and whipped out a credit card. 

 

The woman took it with long painted nails and stuck it in a machine, stamping a copy of the man’s handsome face in ink on a separate piece of paper. She handed the plastic card back and he returned it to its worn slot. “Thank you Mr. Yoon, you can pay upon leaving. Please enjoy your stay.”

 

She gave him his card key and gestured to a hall behind her lined with elevators. The man nodded and walked towards the hallway. The elevators were all on higher floors. Reaching out a slender finger, he pressed the cool metal button pointing up. It lit red and he waited. Standing stationary in front of the many doors, the tall man betrayed none of his internal thoughts. 

 

A young woman came up on his left in a tight black dress. Curled hair dipped at her cleavage and she shot him an appraising look, running eyes up and down his suit-clad body. She noticed muscles moving under the arms of his suit and the Armani watch hanging from his wrist. She gauged his confidant stance and sharp jaw line. 

 

He caught her gaze. For a moment they froze as he took her in. He faced the elevators again and the red light turned off. The man shot her one last cool look before stepping into the stainless steel box, and the woman hesitated in her pretty heels, letting the elevator doors close behind him. 

 

There were cameras in the elevator. He stood still in the center and let the platform rise to the highest floor. His only betrayal was the nervous bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed intermittently. The elevator dinged, a mechanic voice announcing his arrival to the floor. He stepped out and walked down the long hallway. It smelled musky, holding secrets: holidays, honeymoons, family vacations, business trips, rendezvous…

 

The green and red pattered carpet was nothing like Christmas and the cheap lights on the wall didn’t nearly resemble china, and he idly wondered how such wealthy hotels always maintained dim and unfriendly hallways. The man finally paused in front of an unassuming door. He eyed the number. And suddenly his heart pounded. Voices long suppressed screamed in his head, echoing old arguments, longing for freedom, willing his reason to listen. Oxygen seemed to dissipate from the air, losing an unseen battle to carbon dioxide, and he sent a silent prayer to nothing for something he couldn’t even vocalize. He concentrated, old breathing exercises now coming to him like muscle memory. He placed a palm on the door. Feeling sentimental, he imagined all those old movies they used to watch; movies where the prince couldn’t get to the princess. The movies where they would press their hands on a surface and the audience could see they were touching despite the wall, but the characters didn’t know. He pretended that his lover was on the other side, pressing a longing hand against the wood. 

 

Calmed down but still feeling slightly crazed, the man pulled his keycard from a side pocket. He pressed the card to a mechanism on the door a moment before a small blue light shone and a beep echoed in the hallway.

 

He pressed his weight on the handle and pulled the door open. 

 

 

****

 

 

Doojoon had been so busy the last few years. Not long after graduating university he’d been swept up in his fathers’ political society, learning the trade and grooming to fill his father’s intimidating shoes. Classes were studied. Rose colored glasses tainted his vision and beautiful creatures threw themselves towards his success. Speeding along the elite course, he spent his days in a drunken haze of work and revelry. Until one particular night his father, clad in a crisp grey suit and striding with impeccable posture, introduced the thin young woman on his arm. With long hair and a modest red dress, Soomin was well groomed and interesting to talk to. Her conversation was intriguing and her wit sharp; it was shortly after that he declared their engagement and devoted all his time away from the office with dating and finding little attentions to spoil her deserving person. Wedding preparations were well underway and life was easy with beautiful perfections until one innocuous day. 

 

There was no trigger, no ringing of bells or unearthing of old love letters. He was sitting at his kitchen table. Quiet. Preparing for work and savoring small sips of scalding black coffee. His mind wandered to the past; when he was relatively free on his fathers’ leash; before niggling worries of society and propriety weighed him down; when he was with his friend from fourteen years past. It was funny, he mused as his body quivered over his coffee cup, ripples betraying his shaking foundation. It was funny, as he shook with the pressure of holding in tears and wild bouts of frustration. It was funny how missing one man brought the realization that he missed himself. The himself that he entrusted to one, single person. 

 

 

****

 

 

It was silent as he stepped into the darkened room. The soft brown carpet caressed his polished shoes, soles sinking indents into the floor before the pressure decreased and the fibrous strands rose back to attention. Vanishing like there was never a footstep. He walked only two steps before he allowed the heavy door to close with a resounding thunk behind him. The room was swathed in darkness save a strip of golden light streaming in underneath the bathroom door to his immediate left. He bypassed it, choosing instead to walk the remaining four steps past the entryway and into the large suite. Flicking a stiff light switch on the wall, he squinted as the sudden shock of color invaded his vision. Deep mahogany furniture adorned the room. The television hid against the wall and large floral drapes obscured the city scape. He didn’t want them seeing in anyway. He nodded approvingly at the silver tray placed in the middle of the open room, set at the foot of one of two beds. The second was for show. Only one would be used tonight. The tray contained several bottles of expensive champagne. Morbidly appropriate for the occasion, but there more out of necessity than celebration. 

 

Alcohol seemed to be holding his hand recently. 

 

His heart picked up speed as the soothing rush of water tapered off. The yellow strip of bathroom light was drowned by the room’s florescence, but remnants of the scene burned behind lowered eyelids; the present contained in the small tiled room was worth more than his conceivable dreams. Taking unhurried steps, he sunk onto the plush mattress, leaning over to carefully untie his shoes and place them neatly at the foot of the bed. Casting a weary gaze around the large, wallpapered room, he stood and traveled the few paces to the silver tray. Popped the cork. He deftly held two champagne glasses in one hand while judiciously pouring the bubbly drink with his other. The bottle, now drastically emptied,   
crunched back into the metal cooler. He took a sip; the refreshing carbonation slid down his throat, cooling it. Standing there, examining the rising streams of bubbles through his glass, he barely noticed when the bathroom door opened. A figure paused at the door to examine him. A soft whisper of his name jumpstarted his heart. He hadn’t realized it stopped but he supposed it had a long time ago without his notice. His fingers tightened unnoticeably around the delicate stem of his wine glass as he turned to face the figure newly emerged from the bathroom. 

 

 

****

 

 

Junhyung always looked up to Doojoon. Always admired his handsome features, his perfect grades. Doojoon had the uncanny ability to remain at the top of his class and attract women simultaneously, while still spending all his free time with Junhyung. But what did he have to offer? A surly expression took root on his face while he stumbled through classes. Average. Boring. Junhyung saw in himself no redeeming qualities yet he found the best of himself inside Doojoon. From junior high on, Doojoon only seemed to take interest in him. “You’re my best friend,” he would say. “You’re special.” And when they reached high school, Junhyung decided to make himself better for his friend.

 

Junhyung, small-eyed and scowling, took off his glasses. He went shopping. He styled his hair. He tried harder. For Doojoon. He deemed himself a success when he received his first confession, pre-rejected as he had no intentions of dating, but was wildly confused when Doojoon pushed him angrily up against the lockers. “Stop it,” he hissed. Junhyung remembered, still remembers, the smell of musky cologne and the shine of Doojoon’s earrings. 

 

“Why can’t I be this way,” he asked. Did Doojoon not like him being good-looking? Was his place in Doojoon’s life to be the charity case? His heart swirled with conflicting, dangerous thoughts as his best friend pushed him painfully against cold metal. “Why can’t I try and be like you?” 

 

“I like you, Junhyung. I like you as you are.” And Doojoon’s hot body pressed against his as their lips collided.

 

Junhyung guessed he’d always be a loser. Then and now. But he was fine with that…until Doojoon gave his spot away. 

 

 

****

 

 

Doojoon’s eyes devoured the sight of his secret lover, drunk from his image alone. Perhaps more potent than the champagne still clutched in his hand. The champagne burned on the back of his tongue.

 

Junhyung stood framed in the light. Hair wetly brushing against the tips of his small ears, he nervously tugged his unbuttoned dress shirt over his thin chest, eyes gravitating to the walls nervously before magnetically finding Doojoon’s face again. It felt like high school, the nervousness radiating from both men in a standoff at either side of the room. Years of secrecy, resentment, and suffocated love choked the room with stale containment, a familiar burden piled on their weary backs. And yet Doojoon felt lighter than he had in months. Not trusting his throat, thick with confessions and rash declarations, Doojoon picked up the second glass and held it out in offering. Junhyung eyed it for a moment before letting defensive hands drop to his side and walking up to the taller man, brushing shaking fingers together as he accepted the glass. 

 

As Junhyung savored the champagne in his mouth, Doojoon tucked a strand of his hair between two fingers. 

 

“You’ve dyed it again,” he murmured, eyeing the lighter brown strands against his skin. 

 

Junhyung swallowed, almost defiantly staring up into Doojoon’s dark eyes. “I needed a change.” 

 

“You used to have it this color in high school,” Doojoon said fondly, dropping his hand from Junhyung’s coarse hair to the starchy shirt covering his shoulder. Junhyung felt the heat burn through the cotton and scorch another brand against his skin. 

 

“Congratulations,” he said to cover the sudden pain in his chest, “on your impending wedding.” 

 

Doojoon’s eyes darkened and Junhyung felt a bitter satisfaction in making the other man upset. “Don’t say that,” he pleaded, stepping forward and bumping his toes against the other’s gently. He pressed their foreheads together, eyeing the familiar lips inches away from his own. 

 

“That’s all I can do,” Junhyung rasped, tilting his lips up towards Doojoon’s own. After tonight, he was her man. The thought beat at his insides, churning his stomach and screaming in his head. Pain shouldn’t hurt this much without physical infliction, and yet maybe he should blame Doojoon for beating his body with his abandonment. 

 

Despite his anguish, Junhyung’s heart weakly begged Doojoon to be happy. 

 

Maybe that’s what hurt the most.

 

 

****

 

 

“Congratulations,” Junhyung said, casually throwing an arm over Doojoon’s shoulder. It was awkward with Doojoon being taller than him, but Junhyung refused to appear lacking in any way while standing next to the other man. “You’re first in the grade. Again.” 

 

Doojoon grinned and grabbed Junhyung’s thin arm, relocating it to his waist before placing his arm around Junhyung’s own bony shoulder. Junhyung’s face flushed red and his fingers gently grabbed at the material of Doojoon’s shirt at his waist. “Is this okay?” he asked, nervously looking around.

 

“No one will think twice,” Doojoon said assuredly, brushing his index finger against the supple skin of Junhyung’s neck. His smile softened as he stared at his best friend turned boyfriend, whose scowl only deepened to counter their intimate position. 

 

 

****

 

 

Kisses shouldn’t be this bitter, Doojoon thought, wrapping his arms around Junhyung’s waist and pulling their chests together. The shorter man sighed against his lips and gave another fragile piece of his soul away. Standing by the cart, the two slowly savored each other’s taste and feel. Lips that’d met hundreds of times before reacquainted themselves in sweet reminiscence, moving together like a dance. Doojoon carefully slid his warm hands under the collar of Junhyung’s shirt, sliding his palms along remembered smooth skin and removing the piece of clothing. He took a moment, regretfully parting their lips, to stare at his lover’s smooth chest—his dark nipples contrasting the milky complexion and bumpy definition of his abdomen. Junhyung, eyes glazed but containing a small gleam they’d been lacking, stared hungrily at the small patch of skin near the taller man’s clavicle and reached out steady hands to unbutton his dress shirt. Doojoon stared intently at the top of Junhyung’s head as the other man worked off his shirt, hands down at his sides. He placed a large palm on top of brown locks before sliding down and cupping Junhyung’s cheek, bringing his rounded face up for a gentle kiss before allowing him to undo the rest of his shit. 

 

Doojoon regretted his actions with Junhyung. Regretted keeping him hidden in the shadows. Regretted every breath he took in the other man’s absence. Over the years Doojoon shaved pieces of himself away leaving raw skin to harden with calluses of his father’s teachings. Hiding behind his new character, Doojoon lived jumping from bubble to bubble of lies until soon the lie was reality and his identity hid away in a bubble trapped in Junhyung’s eyes. In truth, all Doojoon had left of himself was tucked away, safely hidden in Junhyung’s heart.

 

Junhyung shed Doojoon of his jacket before gently removing the shirt, careful of causing wrinkles. Wrinkles were a tell and tonight was only for them. Placing the shirt carefully on the floor Junhyung stood back up and mapped Doojoon’s chest with his fingertips, pressing a gentle kiss in the middle. “I love you,” he hummed quietly, the words sinking leadenly in the room. It was a tragic confession, painful and locked away, kept hidden from the world. At that moment Doojoon hated everyone; it wasn’t fair burned in his chest, smoldering for the past ten years of his life and hatred sunk into his bones. Towards himself too, because out of everyone, he hurt Junhyung the most.

 

Doojoon knew he’d lose Junhyung forever. But he wouldn’t let him leave his side tonight.

 

 

****

 

 

Doojoon slammed the offender against the wall, banging his head harshly against the plaster.

 

“Say it again,” he said darkly, dangerously. 

 

“I-I’m sorry,” the now cowering boy stuttered, looking fearfully into Doojoon’s angry face.

 

“Now who’s a fucking fag?” Doojoon hissed, jerking him forward before slamming him back against the wall. The boy let out a whimper.

 

“Doojoon!” Junhyung yelled, yanking at Doojoon’s shoulder. “Doojoon knock it off, he gets it.” 

 

Doojoon loosened his grip and the boy slumped down, sniffing to keep tears at bay. “Apologize,” Doojoon demanded, standing threateningly over the prone body. 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The boy said quickly, looking anxiously up at Doojoon’s stern face. 

 

“Not to me,” Doojoon scoffed, jerking his head in Junhyung’s direction, “to him.”

 

The boy turned his head from his spot on the floor and glanced at Junhyung’s flat eyes before leaking out another apology. 

 

“Now get out of here,” Doojoon ordered, stepping back to allow the smaller man to practically leap to his feet and run away. After he vanished and all other bystander’s stares had faded, Doojoon looked at Junhyung.

 

Felt his heart sink at the boy’s carefully blank face. “Jun,” he tried.

 

“You overreacted,” Junhyung said evenly. 

 

“But,” 

 

“And what’s worse,” Junhyung interrupted, “you used his own insult against him. Whose worse, Doojoon, you or him?” Junhyung held Doojoon’s gaze a moment before walking down the hallway. The guilt rose like bile in his throat. Doojoon didn’t realize his actions would hurt Junhyung but how could they not? He’d been so offended at being called gay. So offended and angry that he’d lashed out at someone simply using it as slang. Tons of people did that. He couldn’t fight them all. Doojoon felt ill as he realized that it would always be like this—hating and resenting others for their narrow minds and prejudices but not being able to defend anything without giving it away. 

 

And as much as he loved Junhyung, cherished him even…

 

…Doojoon would never give himself away. 

 

 

****

 

 

It was the sweetest torture loving Doojoon. Spurned one moment and caressed the next. Moving to the bed Doojoon sat upon earlier, the two fell against the mattress. Doojoon hovered over Junhyung’s pliant body, pressing heated kisses against his face, his chest, breathing in his scent and tasting his tender skin. Junhyung loved the attention. He craved it. Years of being hidden away, like a toy in Doojoon’s closet, Junhyung felt his worth lessening when he wasn’t in the arms of his lover. He hated the control his best friend had over him. What would he be without Doojoon? What had he lost to the dark eyes of his soul mate? How much would he have to drink to forget it all after tonight? 

 

Doojoon’s lips burned a trail over him and Junhyung tried to brand each press of lips, each brush of hair against his skin, each fluttering eyelash against his body. He wouldn’t get it again.

 

They divested each other of the rest of their clothes, reveling in the feel of familiar bodies. Familiar intimacy. It was like coming home. As Doojoon’s hot mouth drove Junhyung to ruin, the smaller man wondered if Doojoon would sleep with his wife. He’d have to, and the jealously raced through his body like fire. Tonight, he chanted in his head, tonight Doojoon was his.

 

 

****

 

 

“I have to see you.” Desperate words over the phone. Junhyung leaned back in the couch, feeling the familiar ache press against his skull. How long had they been doing this? Junhyung felt like a dirty secret; he ached and being with Doojoon was like sprinting forward in the dark. “Where?” was all he could say. Despite the darts, the poisoned words he longed to throw through the phone, Junhyung couldn’t. He loved, he depended on Doojoon too much and he understood somewhere in the back of his mind that Doojoon was hurting too. 

 

When Doojoon arrived at his apartment Junhyung was on his fourth glass of wine. Instead of immediately crushing desperate lips together, Doojoon sat them both down on Junhyung’s couch and took his hands in his own. 

 

“Junhyung, I love you,” Doojoon said firmly. Junhyung’s wine intake was smoothing his trepidation and he arrogantly considered himself braced for any news. After all, Doojoon wouldn’t sit him down if he didn’t have something to announce.

 

He was not ready. 

 

“I’m getting married.” 

 

To be honest, Junhyung tried to block the memory. Tried to black out the ensuing fight. He can’t forget the hateful words he’d thrown at Doojoon’s sorry face. He can’t forget black betrayal he felt eating away at his insides, or the angry, vengeful sex they’d had after it. Something in him died that night, and Junhyung knew it was because Doojoon confirmed his worst fears. Doojoon wouldn’t fight against the world. And Junhyung didn’t know who to hate. It felt like even the right to complain had been taken away. Who would listen sympathetically? 

 

Once Doojoon left Junhyung finished three more bottles of wine. And in a drunken clarity he realized it would always be like this. It felt like the whole world hated them, him and Doojoon. He understood that feeling would never stop.

 

And Junhyung died as that feeling turned into despair.

 

 

****

 

 

It was past midnight. Junhyung lay spent in Doojoon’s arms, both breathing harshly and drunk off each other. Junhyung had never felt this desperate, lost and reaching for a non-existent ledge as he fell backwards towards uncertainty. “How can I cling on like this,” Junhyung whispered into Doojoon’s neck, “our love that can’t be. Why is this being taken away from me?” 

 

Doojoon tightened his grip around Junhyung and wished above everything else that he could just run away and take his lover with him. Somewhere they could be together. But Doojoon understood there was nowhere to run. Marrying was like cutting out his own heart. But he hoped Junhyung would care for it in his absence. “Tomorrow,” he said hoarsely, hot tears finally escaping, “the real me will be gone. But you…you should never change.” 

 

Doojoon cried silently and took Junhyung’s shaking hands and held them against his lips, pressing gentle kisses against his knuckles. 

 

“What should I do?” Junhyung asked brokenly and Doojoon wished he had an answer. The truth was his heart was echoing the same plea. 

 

 

****

 

 

The woman behind the counter yawned, hiding her opened mouth with a wrinkling hand. Tired and thinking of her recent soap opera twist, she sat clacking uselessly at the keys on her computer. Across the gleaming tiled walkway she spied the handsome man from earlier exiting from an elevator and walking calmly toward the counter. She smiled and wondered how he still managed to look so put-together. His shirt and jacket was still crisp, tie done up in a neat knot that made her mentally compliment the man’s girlfriend. She tied ties well. The dark haired man reached the counter and smiled gently, pulling out his wallet and passing the credit card into her manicured fingers. “You should get some rest,” she said kindly, eyeing his red eyes. 

 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and her ears welcomed the silky tenor of his voice. “Please charge the entire cost of the room to my account. My…colleague will be staying here until check out time.” 

 

“You’re so kind,” the woman cooed before handing back his credit card.

 

The tall man hummed in the back of his throat and wished the woman a goodnight, stepping out of the gentle lights of the lobby and waiting outside for the valet to bring his car around.

 

The early morning air was cold and stung at his flushed face. Stepping into his car, he sunk into the leather seat and felt numb. He mechanically turned the vehicle on. Pressed the gas. Drove out of the parking lot towards his house. 

 

The words of his lover rang through his ears. “Let’s be born in a better world in the next life. Because I had you, I’m happy.” 

 

Hands whitened painfully around the steering wheel as hot tears burned a path down his cheeks. “Let’s be born in a better world in the next life,” he choked to himself. “I’m happy. I’m happy.” 

 

He repeated it all the way home, hoping words would convince his heart, aching and bleeding in his chest. “Let’s be born in a better world in the next life.” Where I can love you. Where I can have you. 

 

“I’m happy.” 

 

 

 

Go, go (what should I do?) over the rainbow

Go, go (Where should I go?) over the rainbow

 

 

다음 세상엔 더 나은 세상에서 태어나자  
Let's be born in a better world in next life  
난 행복해  
I'm happy


End file.
